LotR: The Sword That Was Unfortunately Lost...
by Vappa
Summary: Of all the perils that the Fellowship have faced, there is nothing quite so terrifying as a Ranger who has lost his sword.
1. One Not So Fine Day

Disclaimer! I do not own Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings owns YOU! I do, however, own a very lovely movie poster . . . which is besides the point. Anyway, I do not = the owner of LotR.  
  
  
  
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Lord Of The Rings: The Sword That Was Unfortunately Lost And Somehow Held Up The Quest  
  
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All was quiet. The trees swayed in the soft breeze, some tired leaves falling from the movement. They fluttered down to land on one young hobbit, named Frodo Baggins. The hobbit twitched, then rolled over in his sleep. His foot kicked out, causing the unfortunate hobbit nearest to him to yelp.  
  
Alongside him, his three companions were also asleep. Samwise, Pippin and Merry were sprawled out across the ground, unsuccessfully sharing two blankets. Being at the end, Merry was shivering slightly under his cloak, which didn't quite do the job.  
  
Boromir was snoring atop a log, using his shield as a makeshift pillow. Being quite hard, Boromir wasn't sleeping very comfortably at all. His hand was hanging over the side, almost touching the ground. The Gondorian man's cloak was stretched out over him, stained with dirt and travel.  
  
Nearby, a dwarf by the name of Gimli leant against a tree trunk. His axe clutched to him, he muttered in his sleep. Further up the tree, in one of the branches, Legolas was draped precariously along the limb. Though his eyes were open, the elf was indeed asleep, as was their way. His torn tunic, once green, was now a less appeasing shade of brown. His arms were set in a death-grip around the branch, presumably to keep himself from falling out.  
  
The fellowship's gear was huddled in a pile next to the hobbits. Near that, there was a blanket, which looked slept in, but currently had no occupant.  
  
Snorting as another leaf fell on his nose, Meriadoc pushed himself up onto his elbows. He sluggishly scrounged the sleep from his eyes with a fist. He disliked sleeping on the ground; it just wasn't comfortable. Not to mention that rock that had been jutting conveniently into his spine all night. Turning over hadn't helped, only earned him an elbow from Pippin.  
  
Merry sighed. This quest wasn't turning out quite as he had hoped. The loss of Gandalf had been extremely terrible. The reality of it all was really only just starting to sink in for him. How foolish he had been to assume that it would be a simple matter of going to Mordor, throwing in the Ring, then coming back home for a cup of tea. No, it wasn't like that. It was sleeping on sharp rocks with beetles crawling through your hair, that's what it was. Scowling, Merry raked his hands through his brown locks. All sorts of insects cascaded out, which he shook off his cloak irritably.  
  
He gazed around at the Fellowship. Boromir looked frightfully uncomfortable on top of that log, and it was beyond Merry how Legolas managed to spend all night wrapped around a branch, and still manage to sleep. He noticed the empty blanket. Where had Strider gone? He supposed the Ranger was out. ranging. The ways of men were strange. Come to think of it, so were the ways of Elves and Dwarves. Hobbits were the only ones with any sense.  
  
Merry glanced down at Frodo. Poor Frodo. Merry thought he looked worse by the day. The Ring was taking its toll on him. He hoped this Ring business would be over with soon. Then they could all go back to the Shire. Unfortunately, things were not as simple as a hobbit's ideals.  
  
A sudden noise caught his attention. He twisted around in the direction it came from. It sounded a lot like running footsteps. They sounded erratic, and were coming closer very fast. He'd hardly had the thought to prepare himself when Aragorn exploded from the trees, screaming at the top of his lungs.  
  
"No no no no no NO!"  
  
With a crash and a curse, Boromir fell off his log in surprise. Legolas let out a shriek then dropped out of the tree backwards onto Gimli. Which was most unpleasant for the elf, as Gimli still had his axe in hand. Merry threw himself backwards in fright, toppling into the other three hobbits, waking them up with a fine how-do-you-do. In mere seconds the quiet glade had become a pandemonium of confused and sore companions.  
  
Aragorn didn't notice any of this though. He shot over to the assembled gear, and started tearing through his belongings. When that seemed not to yield his desire, he proceeded to everyone else's.  
  
"Hey! Strider, get out of my pack . . . OW! Sorry, Mr Frodo!" Sam cried as he stood on Frodo's hand by mistake. The blue-eyed hobbit pulled his hand out from Sam's feet, promptly whacking it into his sword's hilt. Crying out, Frodo moved his arm yet again only to be confronted with the struggling mess that was Merry and Pippin.  
  
Legolas was shouting foul things in his native tongue whilst dancing on the spot, clutching his behind. Gimli was yelling back at him, about how foolish it was to sleep in trees and it's not my fault you landed on my axe. The elf promptly reverted to Westron to tell the dwarf that he shouldn't fondle weapons in his sleep either.  
  
Flipping over from his painful position on his head, Boromir whipped around and started yelling too, but at Aragorn. "What do you think you are doing?! You don't just rush about screaming into camp! There are dangers about that will surely hear you! And you made me fall on my head!"  
  
Still Aragorn paid them no heed, frantically digging through Legolas' pack.  
  
A dazed group of hobbits finally righted themselves, one of them with a very sore hand and temper. Frodo was quite frankly annoyed at Strider's behaviour. He'd always had an immense amount of respect for the Ranger, even before he'd known he was Isildur's heir. But this kind of thing was intolerable for even Merry, let alone the future king of Gondor. They had important things to do, and couldn't risk being heard by anything. He was a bit perplexed as well, for he'd never seen Strider in such a state.  
  
Around the camp, the other companions finally calmed down enough to stare at Aragorn, who was still seemingly in a panic over something. Finally, Aragorn stopped ripping into their belongings, and sat back with a wail.  
  
"It's gone! I can't find it! Goooooonne!" The Fellowship continued to stare. Then Pippin spoke up.  
  
"Mister Strider? What's gone? Have you lost something?" Strider shot the hobbit a savage look that sent him back a few paces.  
  
"No you stupid halfling! I'm crying 'It's gone' because I found it! Honestly . . . "  
  
"No need to be rude, Strider!"  
  
"Don't call me that, it's demeaning!" Now they were really confused. Aragorn was usually very tolerant of everyone in the group, and never once said that the hobbits couldn't call him Strider. Something seemed to have distressed him considerably. With a scowl, Boromir snatched his shield off the log and slammed in onto his back. He then turned to Aragorn.  
  
"Now look here! You've given us a fright and woken us up in the same moment. The least you can do is explain yourself," Legolas and Gimli murmured their agreement, still eyeing each other irritably. Aragorn sat alone in the center of the camp, panting like someone who had just run from a terrifying beast. The thought that maybe the Ring was causing this strange behaviour briefly flickered through Frodo's mind before Aragorn started speaking in a jittery tone.  
  
"I was . . . off on my watch. It was nearly over and I thought I would return early so that we could get a head start today. On my way back, I realized something was a little bit unnatural. It took me a few moments to work it out but . . . " Aragorn sniffed, then started wringing his hands, "I realized my sword was missing!"  
  
Silence. A nearby squirrel chattered in excitement, much oblivious to the strange drama unfolding below him.  
  
Boromir wore a look of barely concealed annoyance. Legolas was unreadable, except for his slight wince as he massaged his rear. The hobbits merely looked puzzled. Gimli however, looked unconcerned. "Is that so great a problem?"  
  
Such a seemingly simple query brought Aragorn down on him like a load of bricks. "Of course it is a problem! That sword is irreplaceable! It . . . it's important. I need it. And it's missing!"  
  
Frodo cut into the Ranger's pleading. "We know it's the Sword That Was Broken, Strider, but it can't be as bad as you say, surely?" Aragorn looked plain manic as he turned to the Ringbearer.  
  
"No! You do not understand! It's not the fact that it's Narsil at all . . . it's MY sword. I cannot defend myself without my sword!"  
  
"But you have three other swords, and a dagger -"  
  
"THOSE ARE DIFFERENT! I NEED MY NARSIL!"  
  
Things were getting out of hand, not to mention unintelligible. Not one of them could understand why Aragorn was in such a miserable state over one of his many weapons. It was not as though he had any less mastery with other swords that were not Narsil, so he certainly wasn't 'defenseless'. Straightening with a huff, Legolas spoke to the distraught warrior.  
  
"Aragorn, it cannot be helped. We are very sorry that Narsil has been lost, but we have more pressing matters to attend to," He gave Aragorn a hard look. "Like the disposal of a certain Ring?" Sarcasm from an elf. Now there was something odd.  
  
Aragorn was heaving with anxiety. "No, we have to find it! We'll find it first, and then continue on with the journey.  
  
Legolas was adamant. "No, Aragorn. We stick with our course of action."  
  
In a flash, the Ranger had Legolas by the shirt. "Say that again." Legolas swallowed, then replied.  
  
"No."  
  
Boromir and Gimli had to work together to save the elf from Aragorn's strangle hold on his neck. Boromir held the Ranger's flailing arms immobile as Gimli proceeded to tie his feet up with rope. He then restrained his arms behind his back, and as an afterthought, wrapped some cloth around his mouth, rendering him speechless.  
  
"What do you suppose we do?" Samwise asked, still staring at the immobile Aragorn as though he had gone quite mad. Which he had, admittedly. He studied each person in turn. Merry and Pippin seemed quite unsure of what to do, and he didn't blame them. Frodo was frowning, and playing with the chain around his neck, which held the Ring. Boromir was extremely annoyed. He wasn't in the best mood when he woke up at the best of times, and this was certainly not the best of times. Legolas seemed a bit rattled, but hid it well behind a mask of displeasure. The mask did not hide the finger marks on his neck though. And Gimli simply looked mad.  
  
Sam shifted his gaze back to Aragorn. Isildur's heir was thrashing around on the ground, struggling valiantly to curse them through the cloth binding his mouth. Such a look was not flattering.  
  
"I say we tie him to a tree and carry on without him,"  
  
"Boromir!"  
  
"Well he's not of any use like this, is he?" He had a point.  
  
"Well," Frodo said slowly, unconsciously drawing the groups' attention. "We could always try looking for the sword. He'll be alright after that." Sam noticed that Frodo looked like he really didn't believe Aragorn would ever be 'alright' in his eyes ever again. He glanced back down at Aragorn. The Ranger was nodded fervently. Gimli stroked his beard thoughtfully.  
  
"I suppose . . . but how are we to know he won't go mad at the slightest thing and proceed to run amok?"  
  
"We could get him to swear an oath," Legolas suggested.  
  
"He could swear on the Ring!" Pippin piped up. Merry nodded his agreement. But Boromir shook his head.  
  
"That would be folly. Then he'd be after TWO metal things. Hmm.." The Fellowship sunk into thought, with the mad Ranger's eyes darting to each of them. Sunlight was beginning to stream through the trees, indicating that the day had already begun. A small branch overhead snapped, and fell onto Aragorn.  
  
No one made a move to pick it up.  
  
Merry suddenly hit upon an idea. "Why don't we make him swear on his sword? That way we'd know he could not break his oath. He'd never dare betray a pledge to Narsil!" Everyone seemed to think this was an agreeable course of action. But no one felt like untying Aragorn's hands as of yet. So they just removed the binding on his mouth. Aragorn coughed, but otherwise remained silent, which was a great relief to all. Legolas stepped up in front of him.  
  
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, do you swear upon the . . . life . . . of your sword Narsil, that you will not do anything foolish?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"That you won't go overboard with the search for aforementioned sword?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"That you won't try to strangle any other member of this Fellowship?"  
  
". . . Yes,"  
  
"You solemnly swear? On your mother's honour?"  
  
"I thought I was swearing on the sword!"  
  
"Oh whatever. On your swords'. . . honour?"  
  
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"  
  
"Alright then," Legolas straightened, then motioned Gimli. Looking like he'd rather do something else, the dwarf cut away the remaining restraints. The hobbits couldn't help backing up a bit as Aragorn rose to his considerable height. Whilst he still looked unstable, he was at least biddable for the moment.  
  
"Can we go find it now?" Aragorn pleaded, verging on a whine. The Fellowship rolled their collective eyes.  
  
"Yes . . ." Like a dog on a hunt, Aragorn immediately bounded away - and promptly fell over. He picked him self up, sniffling, and turned back to them.  
  
"You see? Without the weight of Narsil, I'm off balance!" Not waiting for a reply, he dashed off into the woods. Sighing, the others gathered their provisions together and turned wearily to follow the maddened man. Indeed, Merry thought, as he trotted after Legolas, the ways of men are strange. 


	2. Checking Under Bushes For Sanity

No, I haven't forgotten all about this story. Not in the slightest. It's just taking me a great deal of thinking, because I have no idea where I'm going with it XD. In the meantime, here be chapter 2.  
  
Oh yeah, I + LotR = not owning.  
  
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Lord Of The Rings: The Sword That Was Unfortunately Lost And Somehow Held Up The Quest  
  
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Chapter 2  
  
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Pippin wished that he could be enjoying the beautiful day. It was one of those days that come once in a while that is just so out of character for the season of winter that it had to be enjoyed to the fullest. It gave the lands a slightly other-worldly look, as though someone had super-imposed joyous spring over the bleak lands. The sunlight, though weak, was shining down from its roost high in the sky. The ground beneath his feet was dappled with leaf-patterns, that shifted and stirred in the pleasant breeze. Vibrant were the leaves now, usually muted in the somber weather. Such a fleeting glimpse of happier times cried out to be acknowledged.  
  
The young hobbit sighed. But of course, he couldn't revel in the blessing of this perfect day.  
  
No, he was forced to follow after one disturbed individual, looking for a piece of metal! How they had been convinced to go looking for Narsil was beyond his reasoning. It seemed highly illogical. Yet here they were, the mighty Fellowship, traipsing around in the woods.  
  
To Pippin's left, the rest of the hobbits walked along. Merry, kicking the fallen leaves around in what looked to be a considerable state of boredom. Samwise, his pots and pans clanging and he hopped over a fallen log, then turned to help Frodo down behind him. Muttering a quiet 'thank you', Frodo dropped to the ground on the other side of the log, and continued on, his gaze upon the ground.  
  
Pippin often thought that Frodo was getting rather distant. He knew why. He couldn't even fathom what the Ring was doing to Frodo. It must be hard to carry its corruptive force with you everywhere you went. Whilst Frodo had not been the most exuberant of hobbits by a long mile, he had still been a cheery fellow, the kind of hobbit that everyone liked. Despite the reputation of Bagginses even.  
  
Now though, he had the extra strain of this sidetracking from their important mission.  
  
As the hobbits marched along at their own pace, the rest of the sane Fellowship went along at varying intervals. Gimli was trudging a bit ahead, seeming in a stew over something. Or a certain someone. His grip on the axe at his belt displayed his underlying annoyance.  
  
Flitting through the trees, disappearing then reappearing like a spirit, the elven member of the Fellowship was scouting the land around them. Anything to keep from doing what Aragorn had demanded.  
  
Boromir was trailing behind the hobbits, muttering about the blood of Isildur not being all it's cracked up to be. At that point in time, the rest of the Fellowship was bound to agree with him.  
  
And out in the lead, darting around in a maddening route, was none other than the future king of Gondor, Aragorn son of Arathorn. Keeping up a constant dialogue with himself, the man was turning the countryside upside down in the search for his beloved weapon. Sighing with suppressed hysteria, Aragorn whipped around and pointed at Merry, and shouted.  
  
"Meriadoc! Did you check under that bush?"  
  
Merry jumped at the sudden accusation, then flushed. "No, sir, I didn't think-"  
  
"Well TRY to think then! Check it now!"  
  
Scowling and red in the face, Merry about-faced and proceeded to the far- too-small bush to "have a look". When Aragorn had returned to his search though, the small hobbit gave the man a very rude gesture. Pippin saw, and had to stifle a laugh.  
  
In a blink, Legolas was beside him. Startled, he looked up at the elf. Though he was expecting disapproval, he instead saw a mixed look of contempt and amusement.  
  
"If we did not need him to show us the way, I would give him a lot more than a gesture." Pippin thought about this for a minute, then decided he wouldn't inquire what that might be. Although it was slowly occurring to him that it would be a lot easier without the crazed Ranger. Unfortunately, Legolas was also right. None of them knew the way to Mordor save Aragorn, and even in his . . . "incapacitated" state, he had a better idea of it than anyone else.  
  
In a seemingly coincidental way, Boromir sidled up beside the elf and hobbit. "I still say we should tie him to a tree," Seeing the looks, he relented a bit. "After we had gotten him to draw us a map of course."  
  
Unnoticed by the trio, Aragorn had rounded on Sam. "Did you not check that pile of boulders? That's a perfectly good hiding place for a sword. Go do it!"  
  
Sam gave the Ranger an ugly look. "Why should I? This is foolish, Mr. Strider, we need to get the Ring to Mordor!" Instantly he realized his mistake, and wished futilely that he'd kept his mouth shut. Because in a heartbeat Aragorn was bearing down on him. This was no laughing matter, as Aragorn was almost three times the size of Samwise. The ranger scowled at the hobbit.  
  
"We do nothing of the sort until we find that sword!" But Samwise had had enough. Plucking up his courage, and placing his hands on his hips, he retaliated.  
  
"Wherever your sword may be, Mr. Strider, it is probably not going anywhere! For all we know, it may be buried at the bottom of the sea, or back in Hobbiton. And here we are, gallivanting about looking for it, when the fate of Middle-Earth is hanging around poor Mr. Frodo's neck! I do believe your priorities are a little out of order."  
  
The gardeners' speech had rendered all of them, even the wayward ranger, silent. For the most part, it was a respectful silence, at having voiced what all of them felt, though at varying levels.  
  
But for Aragorn, it was the calm before a considerable storm.  
  
Grinding his teeth, he lowered himself so that he could stare into Sam's eyes. Whatever Sam saw, it distressed him enough to start sweating. And then -  
  
"I'LL NOT HAVE YOU TARNISHING MY SWORD'S REPUTATION! FURTHER MORE, YOU DARE TO SUGGEST THAT I CARRY ON WITHOUT IT?! THERE IS NOTHING ON THIS EARTH, INCLUDING THE RING, THAT WILL STOP ME FROM FINDING IT! DO YOU HEAR ME, SAMWISE GAMGEE?!"  
  
Looking considerably shaken, and wanting very much to get away, Sam nodded his head furiously. He wouldn't be shamed though by stepping back. The two very different people continued to stare eye-to-eye, before Aragorn straightened, and marched off in a huff. Only then did Sam allow himself to move.  
  
Frodo dashed over to Sam to comfort him. Sam was apparently speechless (with rage or fright they could not rightly tell), and just nodded. The rest of the Fellowship were glaring at Aragorn's retreating figure. How could they be expected to put up with that sort of behaviour? It was unthinkable, and certainly not the kind of battle they were willing to fight. Unless it was to be with dirty tactics, and some of them were indeed thinking along those lines.  
  
More to the point, was there going to be an end to this madness?  
  
Aragorn, seeming to realize that nobody was following his lead, whipped around and stalked back into the ring of companions. Every man, dwarf elf and hobbit looked up out of his own thoughts. In a very vexing manner, Aragorn swept his gaze over them.  
  
"Haven't you wasted enough time already? Or do I need to explain again the seriousness of this situation?"  
  
There was a resounding clang as Sam's frying pan flew through the air and connected with Aragorn's head. 


End file.
